The Children's Trident
by Wizzrobe Queen
Summary: The Hyrulean Civil War rages on so Ganondorf has enough to worry about without some weirdo cultists from the west trolling his borders. However, after a cultist and a traitor try to kidnap one of his granddaughters, he crosses paths with a wizard and gets dragged into his mission to save his ward from the very same cultists. Pairing: Carodorf (Carock x Ganondorf) Also has many OCs.
1. Chapter 1

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**The Children's Trident**

**Chapter 1**

Carock sat on a poorly padded bench-like bed, grunting, yanking, and prying at the cuffs suppressing his magic, in a cell with a small empty package lying abandoned in a corner. Across from him was the cell's heavy metal door, which shared a wall with a small and downright pitiful excuse of a mirror in dire need of polishing. He had little light to work by, but it did not bother him. The thin moonbeam entering the cell from the sole sliver of a window and the very faint blue glow from the crystals affixed to the ceiling were more than enough light for a Zuna of his particular breed.

He was mostly a Karstzuna, named after their subterranean homes scattered in Doldara, the now dry cove up north. His skin was the color of the palest edges of a honeydew's flesh. It was contrasted by the vermilion clothing swimming over his slender body and the cascade of black hair framing his face. His eyes were entirely green, including most of his sclerae, and were framed by thick black eyelashes and dark periorbital circles. Rage and worry combined with the cold coastal drafts sweeping in that _one_ tiny window kept him awake.

Carock sighed in frustration and sat back for a moment. He peered at his meager pillow and retrieved the fork he had swiped some days prior from it. He held up his wrist again and tried picking at the cuffs with the old, beat-up cutlery. He had wasted a fortnight in this Zunusyerkirian prison and that was one too many as far as he was concerned.

"_Hey, you!_" the guard yelled, "I can hear what you're doing in there, _stop it!_"

"I shouldn't even be _in_ here!" Carock shouted, "Mister Sargsyan's accusations are _completely_—"

"Shut up, _ghoul!_"

"_They're completely unsubstantiated!_"

"What!"

"He's fulla _shit!_ He's _lyin'!_ He's—" Carock snapped.

"Oh, yes, _this_ crap again. 'I was framed! I was framed!' You and everybody else!" the guard snapped. "And it hardly even matters anymore after all the crap you've pulled in here!"

"_Yargh!_" Carock screamed as he hit the cell door.

"_Watch it._" the guard growled.

"_A buncha damned, shit-eatin' Tözlams kidnapped my ward! Why does no one care?! What the fuckin' hell?!_"

"_Shut up!_"

"_Motherfuckin' half-bred trichophile!_"

"All right, that is _it!_" the guard shouted.

Carock flinched and felt his heart thump harshly against his ribs and his lungs shrivel. He took a deep, quivering breath to fill the sudden hollowness inside him and to soothe the queaziness birthed from his heightened anxiety. Fighting with his power suppressed never became any easier, no matter how many times he has done it before nor how many hours he had pondered over it beforehand. At least this time he had a fork.

"_I'm gonna teach you a lesson you can see even in that shitty mirror, you—ouuugh!_" There was a loud thump from the other side of the door, like the guard's body had just been slammed into it, along with the dull thud of punches and some clattering. Carock then heard the jingling of keys and a couple of clicks before the cell door swung open. His jaw dropped when he saw who stood on the other side.

He saw two Zuna men, both cloaked in hooded, face-covering robes that matched the color of the prisons' walls. The one standing away from the cell had Carock's bag hanging from his shoulders and looked utterly unnatural in the stoney beige clothes enveloping him. He stared motionlessly at Carock as he stood with his feet somewhat apart and his hands nestled behind his back like a soldier. The one standing and panting before him at the door uncovered his face and reached for Carock's hands.

"Ta— Tarock? Shadrock? Wh— What are you—" Carock had already recognized them despite the cloaks by their eyes and by the fact that they were only two people in all of Barida Bay who could possibly know where he was _and_ would actually come rescue him.

"C'mon! Shadrock's got your stuff. We have to go _now!_" Tarock said as he unlocked Carock's shackles. Carock nodded and grabbed a piece of paper from the prison's ratty pillow before joining them. They stood in a circle, holding each others' arms, and vanished.

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A dark, fiery-haired man found himself in an enormous room where anything more than two and a half yards away seemed to fade into a black fog. His footsteps echoed as though he were in a canyon. The air was chilly and oppressive as though the atmosphere itself was bearing down on him. He moved slowly and quietly toward a presence drawing him to the center of the room.

He stopped short when a powerful odor struck him in the face: the stench of iron and decay. He looked to the floor and saw the edge of a huge pool filled nearly to the brim with an opaque green liquid. He took a step back and stared at it suspiciously until he noticed the faint light reflecting off it. He jerked his head up and saw the light shining above a strange figure standing on an island in the pool's center with no bridges, ropes, or stepping stones leading to it from his shore. In front of the figure was some sort of altar with a struggling little girl tied to it. She saw him and called out to him, screaming and crying in absolute terror, "_Grampa! Grampa, help me!_" He did not hesitate for even a second and entered the pool with a splash. "_Grampa!_"

The pool went only to his waist at first, but then the floor suddenly slanted down acutely. He was a poor swimmer, so he sank a bit after he kicked off the pool floor to give himself a speed boost. The strange, thick liquid was now on his face and had slipped into his mouth. He gagged and spat. _**This**__ is __**blood**__...?!_ he thought. He saw bits and pieces of fleshy debris floating in it with him in the corners of his eyes. He grimaced and kept his gaze fixed into his destination.

His granddaughter continued to scream for him as the heavily cloaked figure loomed over her. It carried a black trident with a red diadem-shaped stone imbedded at the base of the prongs and wore an intricate stone mask that reminded him of an owl. The mask had one eye with a relatively normal shape that was overshadowed by its big, round eyeball bulging out. It had several lines carved into it, many ending in rectangular spirals, one of which was placed where the mask's right eye would have been. On the top looked like horns that stuck straight up and were each topped with the same type of tight spirals that covered the mask. There were a pair of snakes on the horns that had a head at each end. The heads lunging toward the spirals had their mouths open and their tongues out. The other heads were facing each other and biting opposing sides of a disc that was just a bit his right from the center of the mask's forehead. Although the figure remained silent and its face was completely obscured, he could sense that it was enjoying watching him struggle in the pool.

A chill went up his spine and he tensed as many small fingers suddenly clutched his leg. A venomous and disturbingly joyful cackle joined his grandaughter's cries. As the hands pulled him under, he held his breath and shut his eyes just in time. He dared not open them, not that it would have done him any good, and holding his breath was much harder than it usually would have been as he kept feeling chunks of _something_ brush across his face and hands as he tried to pry and kick off the horde of small hands clutching his leg. The feel of those squishy, cold hands alone would have been enough to make him gag as their slippery skin slid and tore away at his efforts, sometimes the hands themselves would snap apart. He grunted out most of his air and accidentally gasped when a small fractured bone stabbed his hand. He felt like his body was going to cave in at his chest by the time he finally kicked them all off.

As he desperately swam to the surface, he heard blood-curtling screams and then nothing. When he broke the surface, he did not need to open his eyes to tell that the light had considerably dimmed. He finally reached the island and dragged himself out of the pool, still coughing, gasping, and sputtering. "_Matilda!_" he rasped as he placed his hands on the altar to pull himself up. He coughed again as he stood, brought a hand to his face to cover his mouth, and saw that his palms were red.

His shocked stare switched to the altar and fixated on the bloody little body upon it. Short despairing moans escaped his constricted throat as his stomach twisted and knotted. Her head laid tilted toward him and vitreous fluid streaked her face, which had frozen in a ghastly grimace with her mouth stretched into an unnatural, gaping frown and her brows pinched into sharp, jagged arcs. Her eyes were hollow and dark except for the bits of white lumps that laid limply inside. A juicy, red gash ran from the center of her neck down to her navel with long, bloody tubes of flesh splayed about.

"Oh, was that _yours?_"

Ganondorf awoke with a start, panting and glancing about wide-eyed in a cold sweat. He was fully dressed, aside from his shoes, belt, and crown. His tangled hair stuck out in all directions with some strands clinging to his damp face. He pushed his hair out of his face and back, then continued to rub his face.

Ganondorf had been sleeping poorly for months, as evidenced by the dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. Nightmares plagued him night-after-night, beginning as a vague, threatening fog that Ganondorf initially mistook as the product of stress over the war creeping toward his borders again. As the dreams took form, it quickly became clear that they had little to do with the threats from the east.

The first details to form were the figures cloaked in black— faces all hidden with bizarre stone masks and often muttering in strange tongues. The figures' language was vaguely similar to one the Gerudo had learned from Zamruht centuries ago. One figure in partcular appears most often lately, like in tonight's nightmare. It always spoke in Zamruht's dialect and it always said the same thing. Every night, it always slaughtered a different child— except during these past ten nights. _Now_ it was always his Guldel's little Matilda.

The figure always took some perverse sense of joy in his struggle to save her, assuming it was not a part of his subconscious mocking him for always forgetting he could just _levitate_ over the pool, and by the end of each dream he was so disgusted, horrified, and enraged that the only thing keeping him from ripping this figure apart limb from limb was the fact that he always awakened before he could even begin to lunge at it.

Even before the nightmares took on such a personal nature, his instinct still compelled him to check on his granddaughters. He might have felt like a paranoid fool if not for the fact that Guldel had been having the same nightmares. By his arrival, she would be up, holding a lit candle, and checking to see if her babies were still there.

They were both just about at their wit's end and had taken to sitting by each other for the rest of the night, her in her bed and Ganondorf in a chair, whispering. More than ever did Guldel express her desire to drag the girls' father to Gerudo Fortress, however advantageous it is for everyone that he stays at the ranch. "Perhaps we should ask Matsel to return to our chambers." Ganondorf had suggested a week ago.

"That wouldn't be too awkward?"

"No," he answered bluntly, "and it doesn't matter either way. I'd rather feel awkward and well rested than anxious and exhausted." At this point he _would_ much rather live with Guldel's mother, his ex-wife who could crush a grown man's skull with her hands, than with— _this_. At least there was no animosity between them. "Besides, it would be even _more_ awkward to have _him_ here." he growled quietly.

"Ingo."

"Yeah... The guy who was subdued by having his trousers pulled down..." Ganondorf retorted as he rolled his eyes. Guldel buried her face into pillow so as not wake her girls with her giggling. Ingo and Guldel had met while she and a few other Gerudo were stealing milk. He entered the barn yelling and waving a pitchfork, only to trip over his pants after Guldel had pulled them down to his ankles, and then get shoved back down onto his heinie as he struggled to pull them back up. He ultimately ended up fuming in a corner, surrounded by laughing women who had just hog-tied him with the legs of his pants. He had taken to wearing sleeveless coveralls over shirts ever since. "Such agility, What strength. What a _grand_ epitome of heroism. His presence _alone_ would leave our mysterious assailants quivering in a vast ocean of their own urine." This was the night Ganondorf learned how hard it was to convey sarcasm in a whisper. Guldel punched her father in the shoulder and rolled over shaking with muffled laughter. "He's got guts, though. I'll give him that."

Although they ultimately slept better that evening when they finally dropped off, that bit of levity was certainly no comfort _tonight_... Not even Matsel's return was easing either of their nerves. Just three days before their chat, a group of people calling themselves Tözlams had appeared upon their western borders. The Tözlams seem to come in many races, most called themselves Karstzuna, but some were Zarvronian, Veldtzuna, Randzuna... The Randzuna looked the most like Zamruht did and understood her dialect best, occasionally giggling at the archaicisms.

The Tözlams spoke of a great king slain long ago by a loden-clad, red-blooded man with a shining blade— of a king whose passion will one day live on in a special mortal and rule the world. It took a lot of self-control at first for Ganondorf not to burst out laughing in their face; however, the fact that these people were cloaked completely in black and wore— or at least carried— masks quickly destroyed any sense of amusement Ganondorf had felt toward these strangers.

Ganondorf sat at the edge of his bed to don his missing clothing and grabbed a bag before he left his bedroom. The hall leading to Guldel and her daughters' bedroom seemed to get longer every night and tonight it had had the largest growth spurt of all. A new feature was how heavy and oppressive the air was... How he felt like something behind him was grasping at him, but missing just barely... A chill went up Ganondorf's spine— he was certain something was wrong tonight and broke out into a run.

Then he heard his daughter cry out, "Matilda?" Ganondorf ran. "Matilda!" If anyone had hurt her, he will find them and rip them to shreds. "_Matilda!_" Ganondorf arrived at the scene; Guldel was in the hall and his three other daughters, Aveil, Saffe, and Dargora, had joined her. Matsel was looking up and down the hall from the door. Guldel began to speak to him but stopped when they heard a muffled cry and some scuffling. He, Matsel, Guldel, and Aveil ran toward the source. Saffe and Dargora stayed behind to guard the remaining two children.

They heard a familiar voice fuss, "Stay still you— _ow!_" and then saw two humanoid shapes in the shadows who looked up at them, "_Kak!_" the other uttered as they turned and ran away with a violently struggling little girl in their arms. _Wait..._ Ganondorf thought, "_Kak...?_" that was from the language the Tözlams spoke. The other was one of _them!_ The four of them gave chase, jumping over the unconscious bodies of guards. "_Mi ban ara!_" the Tözlam yelled at the familiar one, who threw a small object at them. It broke open as it hit the ground and released a gas. They held their breaths and shut their eyes as they jumped though, unaffected.

"_If you think that'll slow us down, Tuban, you're more stupid than I thought!_" Ganondorf yelled.

_Tuban_, what a _schmuck_, what a _shithead_. "_I_ should have been the king." he would whine, "_You_ should have been a Tuttuk." he would whinge, "_Why_ can't everyone see _my_ greatness?" he would wail before Ganondorf would finally lose his patience and put the fucksmack on him. Tuban had spent so much of his time complaining about something _neither_ of them had any control over that it was all he was good at. Ganondorf had no idea what Nabooru had seen in Tuban so many years ago and now, unlike Matsel and himself, they are _not_ still on friendly terms... They _all_ know what _Tuban_ saw in her and when she realized what it was, she kicked him out before he could further leech off the respect the other Gerudo had for her.

They exited the fortress, now with a few guards that Tuban and the Tözlam had missed and Nabooru joining them in the chase, and surrounded the kidnappers. "Release her, Tuban!" Nabooru yelled, "_Now!_"

"_Pahír nəran_." the Tözlam growled at Tuban as he released Matilda's legs. She did not waste this opportunity to kick him in the face and bite Tuban, whom dropped her, allowing her to run into Guldel's arms. "_Ēš!_" the Tözlam scolded as he grabbed Tuban, slapped him, and shoved him down before turning his attention back to the Gerudo surrounding him and began charging a spell. Ganondorf raised his hand and threw a quick spell of his own at him, knocking him over and dispelling his charge. "_Bozi təgha!_" he got back to his feet and threw a weaker but fast spell at Ganondorf, whom slapped it back to him. The Tözlam mimicked the act and, during their game of Dead Man's Volley, quickly noticed that Ganondorf took a step closer with each ricochet and had a bloodthirsty glare. He ducked the spell, grabbed the panicking Tuban, and used his magic to jump away toward the gate.

"_After them!_" Ganondorf commanded as he followed them into the desert.

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"OK, leave the circle! Quickly!" Tarock shouted as he dashed forward and practically dragged Carock with him. Shadrock stepped over the outline and, after putting Carock's bag down and shedding the beige robe, stuck his arm into his bag. Tarock began digging through his own bag frantically and said, "We have to disable it before anyone can follow us. OK, first we—" just as Shadrock took a very large hammer and brought it down so heavily upon the graffitied stone that it cracked and disabled the magic. Tarock gaped at the broken circle and then at Shadrock.

"Or that." Carock shrugged.

"_The hell did you get __**that**__?!_" Tarock snapped. Shadrock slid the hammer back into the comically small and clearly enchanted bag. "Why do you even _have_ a huge hammer?!"

"Why do _you_ have a huge bald spot?" Shadrock retorted as he retrieved the rest of his clothing from his bag and donned a black robe, which covered his more unusual clothing: a black and blue horizontally striped shirt and somewhat close-fitting black trousers. He used a bluish-black cloth to cover his head like a hood and pinned it in place with a tagua brooch carved into the shape of a somewhat cartoonish skull.

Tarock glared at Shadrock with his mouth agape for a moment before snarling, "_Relevence?_"

"None whatsoever." Shadrock answered as he turned to Carock. "_Gata_," he said softly, "I'm certain that you are aware of the illegitimate nature of your imprisonment."

"Yeah." Carock answered as he took his bag and stashed the piece of paper in it.

"The trial would have been no different. The Tözlams have been busy fabricating evidence to convict you."

"_What!_" Carock shouted. He brought his palms to his face and grumbled, "_For fuck's sake..._" He was not particularly surprised— in fact, he _assumed_ that he was being framed— but assuming and knowing are two entirely different things. "Know if anyone _else_ was in on it? That seems a rather brazen thing of them to do without some Zunusyerkirian authority backing them up..."

"According to Nefeli, Prince DerT'agavorian spied the King DerT'agavorian conversing with masked, hooded men about disposing of an incarnate." Shadrock said. Carock's jaw dropped. "Furthermore," he continued, "According to Shałock, the king, the judge, and many of the jury who were to preside over your trial are all of the mask."

Carock stared wide-eyed at Shadrock as he processed what he was just told. "Bu— but—" he finally stammered, "_Why?_"

"_You know why._" Shadrock replied, pointing at Carock's verdant blood stripes. They went down his neck and over his back instead of stopping at his jaw.

"_No,_ there's _still_ only four of us! They shouldn't be bothering with this now! _Why?!_"

"It's about time for Her Third to be reborn, if he hasn't been already. They're getting antsy."

"_Fuck!_" Carock was close to tears, "_I am so fucking sick of this bullshit!_"

"Also, I think they expected the Norašxarhakans to try and kidnap you." Tarock told him, "You would _not_ believe how many guards they had posted..."

Carock groaned and rested his head in his hands as he sat on a rock. The Norašxarhakans want to sacrifice the five incarnates of Veriza to return the Zuna to their former aquatic forms and flood the entire planet, destroying everyone else in the process so they can have it to themselves... And to think they had just started as a little sect who worried about the world running out of water, due to Veriza's spring going dry upon her death, and merely desired to resurrect her...

The Tözlams, on the other hand, "only" want to kill one of the five incarnates to foil the Norašxarhakans and gain as much power as possible so they can conquer everything in the name of their master. Between these two cults, it was no surprise that people with extended pairs of blood stripes tend to die young. "_Fuck my life_..." he groaned. He forlornly raised his head and asked, "What have you heard about _Koryun?_"

"Shałock said they took him to one of their dungeons and they intend to convince him to join them..." Tarock answered. Carock straightened his posture and stared at his hands resting in his lap. He took a bracing breath and stood. "Wait, you're not going to..."

"I have to."

"But..."

"_I have to!_"

"They'll _kill_ you!"

"If I can rescue _Koryun_ first _then so be it_."

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A/N: Y'all may call the Norašxarhakans the "Norasharks" for all I care... I _know_ it's a mouthful. FYI, "š" is a voiceless palato-alveolar sibilant (i.e., /ʃ/ or "sh") and "x" is a voiceless uvular fricative (i.e. /χ/, that hacky-coughy h sound in Chanukkah).

Most Zuna have very little body hair, unlike the other people of Barida Bay. As a result, "trichophile" became a euphemism for someone who prefers to fraternize with non-Zunas. It originated in Zunusyerkir due to its government and many of its citizens being racist little shits, which is why the guard got so pissed at being called a "half-bred trichophile".

The Tuttuk (and Tutmadık, I'll explain the difference in a moment) are the rare sons of the Gerudo; however, they don't _look_ like Gerudo. Most Tuttuk look like Hylians (since they are the Gerudo's most common partners), but are taller than average, often have rounded ears instead of pointy ones, are more likely to have red/reddish hair, and have swarthier skin (but they are still pale in comparison to Gerudo).

They are most commonly conceived during the same year the king is and _were_ mostly given anonymously to Hylians by putting them in Hylian orphanages and or left on Hylian stoops. The sons they gave away are generally considered Hylian but can be called Tutmadık if one wished to differentiate them from Hylians. "Tuttuk" refers specifically to the sons that are kept and became gradually more common during the Hyrulean Civil War due to how dangerous leaving Gerudo Valley had become.

Tuttuk are encouraged to stay indoors as much as possible due to having less resistance to sunburn and tend to take up domestic jobs, book-keeping, smithing, and other indoor work.

If Shadrock's clothing seems unusual for a Zuna, with their light-colored tunics and baggy sharovary pants, that's because they are.

Veriza is the primary deity for the Zuna, Latoraans, et cetera. More will be revealed about her later but for now I'll tell y'all that she has a spring that went dry after she died, she's been dead for a _very_ long time, and five "pieces" of her reincarnate into her mortal children. The incarnates tend to be related (like "Her First" is related to "Her First", "Her Second" to "Her Second", etc.) and their sexes are known to alternate.

Her other names/epithets are "Barida", "Vrysomana", "The Great Morgorga" (Morgorga coming from Moray and Gorgasia, a genus of garden eels, fyi), and "Na Vorə kar Akə" (loosely, "She Who is the Source") which is sometimes shortened to "Akə" (this is the part that means "the Source")... Incidentally, "Carock" is a _very_ popular name among Zunas in my fanfic-canon.


	2. Chapter 2

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**The Children's Trident**

**Chapter 2**

Tarock stared incredulously at his younger brother. "Carock, that's— _that's_—"

Carock frowned at Tarock and swept his arm out dismissively. "Don't waste your breath."

"But their dungeons and lairs are _crawling_ with _skilled_ and downright _vicious_ thaumaturges and warriors! As powerful as _you_ are, how do expect to get in, free him, and get out alive?!"

"_Weren't you listening?_" Carock snapped, his frown turning into a furious glare, "It _doesn't matter_ what happens to _me_ so long as _Koryun_ is saved!"

Tarock gaped at Carock for a moment before snapping back, "_What makes you think you can get __**either**__ of you out alive?!_"

"Oh, _puh_-lease! Killing me is of a higher priority to them than _anything_ concerning _Koryun!_"

"What if that's _exactly_ what they want?! What if this is some big trap?! Tözlams aren't stupid, you know! They'd have a back-up plan if you escaped being convicted and executed!"

"He's right." Shadrock said.

"_See?!_" Tarock shouted as he pointed both of his hands at Shadrock as though he was displaying him. "_He_ agrees!" Carock rested his left elbow in his right palm, rested his forehead on his left fist, and groaned.

"They targeted him so blatantly, executed the kidnapping so clumsily, and in your prescence to boot. It's obviously a trap."

"Well, I _can't_ just let them keep him prisoner!" Carock declared as he raised his head and unfolded his fist.

"No, you cannot."

Carock curled his hand to a comfortable state of rest and cocked his head at Shadrock as Tarock whipped his head toward Shadrock, stared at him wide-eyed, and uttered, "What, but you just—"

"Be quiet." Shadrock grumbled at Tarock, throwing him a quick glare. He turned his attentions again to Carock, his face and voice both softening, "_Gata_, I know we cannot stop you, but you must not do this alone nor without a plan."

Carock thoughtfully lowered his gaze to the cave floor and let his left arm drop upon his right. "I suppose... But..."

"He has great fortitude so he won't crack too quickly for us to act... And neither will they lose patience with him, for he is too competent a sorcerer and fighter... Too good an _asset_."

This was true. He was more stubborn than his father and had more moxie than his mother, he was strong enough to stop a goat in its tracks, he has single-handedly ended bar brawls, he has mastered every spell Carock taught him— and they were many... It is no wonder the Tözlams chose _Koryun_. They _would_ want someone of great quality to be the first Latoraan Tözlam... _Not that he __**will**__ be!_ Carock determined.

"First, we need to determine which dungeon he is in."

"Shałock didn't say?"

"They didn't trust him with that information. We'll have to find out from someone else."

Carock shut his eyes and trilled an irritated sigh that contained just a hint of profanity.

"Don't worry, I know who to go to. He's currently near Licks Barrens..."

"_Licks Barrens?! That's—_"

"Closer than you think."

Tarock beamed, placed his left hand on his chest, and the other on his hip. "I _am_ the best teleportationist in _all_ of Barida Bay." he bragged. Shadrock nodded at him in acknowledgement.

"So we're all the way in Kheganaya?"

"We are."

"_Miiiiles_ away from Zunusyerkir." Tarock said, making a slow, sweeping gesture with his left hand.

"Here, _Gata_," Shadrock handed Carock a map. "I want you to meet us in the cave I've marked on the map tomorrow."

"_Us?_" Tarock queried, "Shouldn't one of us stay with Carock?"

"You should tonight but I want you to go a bit ahead of him tomorrow to make sure the rendezvous point is safe... Both of you be very careful on the way, Tözlams sometimes pass through the barrens as a short-cut."

"OK. When should we be expecting you?" Carock asked.

"By sundown. Now look at the map."

Carock did as he was told and saw the marking. "Oh, yeah. I know where that is."

"Me too." Tarock chipped in.

"Good." Shadrock affectionately rubbed the back of Carock's head, brought his brow forward, and kissed it. "I'll be going now. Stay safe, _Gata_." He then turned to Tarock and gave him a sharp pat on the chest with the back of his hand. "You stay safe too, baldy."

Tarock's face flushed green as he crossed his arms, chuffed, and fussed, "_Ke— Keeser jerk!_" then he snorted and grumbled, "_You_ be careful too!"

Shadrock chuckled and gave a short wave as he left the cave.

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Ganondorf, Matsel, and Aveil chased Tuban and the Tözlam deep into the desert, closely followed by three guards, Sisel, Saitel, and Sahar. As their quarry reached the mini tower, they heard the Tözlam yell, "_Lead!_" and then, "_Find your feet, fool!_" in Zamruht's native tongue. Ganondorf caught a glimpse of Tuban leading the Tözlam through the desert by hand and tailed them all the way to the Desert Colossus.

They dashed across toward the Colossus and then turned left as they passed the dried oasis. A Gerudo peered out at the commotion from the oasis, her head seemingly popping from the ground like a prairie dog, and watched the chase before joining Ganondorf and his group. Ganondorf saw her in the corner of his eye and recognized her but did not glance back at her to confirm who she was. Tuban and the Tözlam stopped short at a south-western cliff, where the Tözlam roughly grabbed Tuban, levitated to the top, and could be heard scolding Tuban all the way from the bottom.

As Ganondorf and his companions prepared to ascend, the Gerudo from the oasis asked, "What's happening?"

"Tuban betrayed us and aided a Tözlam in an attempt to kidnap Matilda." Ganondorf answered, finally looking straight at the woman, identifying her as his sister Gulbara.

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped before her look of shock morphed into one of anger, "_What?_"

"She's fine, at least, but they _will not_ get away with this!"

"I'm coming with you guys." Gulbara declared. "I wanna melt his _face!_"

Ganondorf smirked slightly and nodded at Gulbara "_That's_ the spirit." he chuckled before looking back up the cliff.

"Hey, I want to bust their heads in sooner rather than later." Matsel growled as she cracked her knuckles and punched the open palm of her right hand.

Ganondorf nodded at Matsel and said, "Gulbara and I will go up first so they'll be too preoccupied to knock any of you off the cliff." Everyone nodded. "Let's go." Gulbara and Ganondorf lifted off and, after they ascended a few yards, the others took to scaling the cliffside.

"_Would you __**shut up**__?!_" Tuban exclaimed in the Tözlam's language, "They will be up here any second! _Ganondorf_ can levitate _too_, you know! And I am pretty sure we ran by his—" Tuban's jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out as he yelled, "_oh, shit!_" in his own tongue. The Tözlam turned to see what Tuban was grimacing in horror at only to be hit in the face with a crackling ball of magic, getting only a glance of the silhouettes of Ganondorf hovering ever closer and Gulbara charging a spell. He yelped, groaned, and swore in pain. Tuban scrambled to his feet and ran into a rift leading further south-west.

"_Get back here, you sniveling piece of—!_" Ganondorf bellowed, interrupted by the Tözlam attacking him immediately upon recovering with the same magic he had used before. He cast another spell to stirr up a cloud of dirt as Ganondorf recoiled from the hit.

Gulbara cast her spell, aiming about where Tuban should have been but missed and hit a rock instead. "_Blast!_" she yelled, "Ganondorf—!"

"I'm fine! Don't lose them!" Ganondorf exclaimed as the others reached the top and they all dashed after them until they came upon the entrance of a cave surrounded by several more Tözlams.

"You went with _**that**__ bungler?_" a familiar voice scolded. "We _told_ you he was worthless!"

Gulbara grunted unhappily, recognizing a few of the women as the Gerudo priestesses— well, _ex-_priestesses now— who had been sneaking out at night. Gulbara _knew_ it had something to do with the Tözlams and, despite the strong hunch that they were defecting, hoped they were just taking advantage of the fact there were men around. Hunch: 1. Hope: 0.

"Whatever!" a female Tözlam exclaimed, "We got a lot of new recruits and we can pick up a tribute on the way home. The Regent will be satisfied with that! Let's get out of here while the getting's good and just come back later."

_Tribute?!_ Ganondorf mentally spat. That word sounded wrong enough as it is when applied to a human, especially a _child_, but Ganondorf had a strong feeling that it was a euphemism for something far worse, especially since his dreams seemed to have been predictive. The Tözlams began entering the cave, dragging Tuban with them.

"Ugh, just leave him!" one of the other ex-priestesses snapped.

"He knows too much." the previous Tözlam retorted, "Besides, he could be good for _something_." she grinned at him hungrily, "As a _toy_ perhaps?" Tuban shuddered at both her words and at her teeth.

"Should we attack them now or...?" Aveil whispered.

"Not here. Follow them."

The cave started out as a winding tunnel that led to a fairly large cavern. Ganondorf was relatively familiar with it, having stumbled upon it in his youth, but there was a blatantly unnatural tunnel Ganondorf had never seen before in the south-west wall. He assumed the Tözlams had something to do with it. They were moving too quickly to be caught up to and disappeared in the new tunnel.

"This tunnel is enchanted." Gulbara declared as they approached it. She held her hands toward it and shut her eyes for a moment. "It's safe. It's a fast-travel spell... _Really_ fast."

"Let's go then." Ganondorf said as he walked past her and descended into the tunnel with the others following closely behind him.

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Carock entered a small room with a pool in the center of it. Water flowed into it from a hole in the ceiling through a rusting grate, overflowing into the cave's main room, and downward into another. The water had cut out a little canal for itself over the years, so it no longer caused any mess. There were biolumescent fungi spreading over the walls and some of the floor, thankfully the kind with no interest in flesh, and various speleothems scattered about.

He placed a towel and his change of clothes near the pool and then threw off his squalid ones. He undid his hair and shook his head while rustling the back of it, making it fall over his buttocks and swing about. He entered the waist-deep pool, kneeled, and sighed in contentment as the cool water enveloped his slender body. He stretched and ran his fingers through his long hair as he leaned back into the water to let it soak. He rubbed his face with his wet hands and then lathered up a cloth with the soap he kept in his bag. He placed the soap at the dry edge of the pool and absent-mindedly swept the cloth across the top of his head to cut away some of the grease in his hair.

Carock put the cloth aside by the soap, began to massage his scalp, and tried to clear his mind. _I gotta unwind... Being this worked up will only make me stupid._ he thought. Instead, the package he had received while in prison began to dominate his mind...

A week into his imprisonment, Carock had awakened at dawn with a thick blanket, one that was not there before, draped over him and the old threadbare one. Tucked under his arm was a small package. _Who—?!_ The fact that someone here could move his arm without stirring him... He pushed the burgeoning and very unpleasant thought from his mind... It was _just_ his arm and as condescending as the guards currently assigned to him were, they at least had a sense of professionalism and ethics.

As he shifted, nippy air swept under the blankets and chilled him. Carock shivered and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. He held the package and examined it carefully: it was thin and rectangular, neatly wrapped in a dark grey cloth and tied closed with green strings. He turned it over-and-over but never saw any sign of whom it was from.

Carock jumped when he heard the piercing creak of the metal door just outside his cell and slid the package under his pillow. "Wake— Ghoul. It's time— meal—" he overheard.

The guard pounded on the door three times. "Hey, wake up!" he yelled.

"_What!_" Carock answered, faking grogginess.

"_Food!_"

_As I thought,_ Carock winced. Some days he would rather lick guano off a cave floor than eat the slop they have been giving him. This was _definitely_ one of those days...

The guard opened the panel at the bottom of the door, shoved the nasty pile of so-called food through, and slammed it shut. The grub smelled as fresh and appetizing as a rafflesia. _Grubs..._ Carock thought wistfully. _Fried slugs... Spelunk Stew... Roasted Keese..._ he continued. He had not been craving the cuisine of his early childhood for nearly two centuries... In retrospect, he thought it strange how nostalgic the horrible prison food had made him.

His stomach growled and he decided to at least _look_ at the food. He sat up, feet dangling, checked his boots, and donned them. He went over to the food, with the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, and picked up the plate.

The slab of meat was rotten and lively with maggots. He picked them off and ate them. The small bowl of rice was watery and tasteless, but seemed edible so he drank it up. He hoped that this was not a mistake and that he would not be spewing from both ends later. For a moment he considered leaving the meat in the corner near the window so he would have more food in about a day or so, but decided he would not be able to abide by the smell, and shoved it near the door for the guard to retrieve.

"You left the meat?"

"It's fuckin' rotten, shitlord!"

"Oh, come on..." the guard teased smugly, "Surely a _ghoul_ such as yourself can handle _that_."

Carock brought his palm to his face, _For fuck's sake..._ "Stop calling me that! I ain't a fuckin' ghoul!"

"Tell that to K'aruk!" the guard shouted, "Oh, wait... You can't. He kinda got a touch of death from the big gaping _hole_ in his neck!"

Carock groaned with a growl and crossed his arms. "He should be glad he didn't bleed out from the stump of his shrivelled _cock!_"

"OK, OK, yeah, bad example I admit... _He_ deserved it," the guard conceded, "but what about poor Vorot?" then the guard affected a strange voice when he said, "'I used to have both cheeks and eyes like you, but then I took a crazed Karstzuna's _jaws_ to the face!'" and added in his normal voice, "And did you have to _swallow?_"

Carock grimaced and gagged at the memory. "_That was a fuckin' accident!_"

"You still bit half his face off."

"_Not to eat!_"

"Details, details."

"_Fuck you!_"

The guard chuffed dismissively.

Carock growled in frustration, stomped to his bed, and sat roughly upon it, scowling with arms and legs crossed. "_For fuck's sake..._" he mumbled. His unsatisfied stomach continued to growl as he sulked. The cell warmed a little as the sun rose but Carock kept the blanket around him. He glanced at his pillow and thought of the package. It was completely untampered with, meaning the guards most likely had _no_ idea that it was here. Whoever gave it to him had been allowed to enter the cell alone, which made Carock suspicious. He took the package and placed it in his lap. _Yes? No? Yes? No?_

Was it safe to open? Was it trapped? Was it food? Was it _poisoned_ food? Was it this, was it that, was it— _Oh, fuck it!_

Carock opened the package.

A waving stream of green light shot out and engulfed him. _Oh, shit!_ Startled, Carock shoved the small box off his lap and stood. _Fuckfuckfuck-__**fuck!**_ He patted at himself for a few seconds, which did nothing. As the light faded, he began to feel _very_ strange, as if his body was absorbing it.

"_Hey, what the hell's going on in there?!_" the guard shouted.

"_I— I—!_" Carock had no clue. When the light was completely absorbed, he gasped and doubled over in pain. He felt it deep inside his gut and, although it had a rather unfamiliar quality to it, he could not tell if it was due to the magic or the terrible food. "_Ffffuuuuuuuck~!_" he groaned.

The guard opened the panel near the top of the door and looked in. "_If this is some kind of trick—!_" he saw Carock curled up in a ball and the opened package. "What th—?! How did—?! That box—?!" After a short pause he asked, "_What was in that box?!_"

"_Some— kinda— magic..._" Carock rasped. "_Don't know— what..._"

"Some wizard..." he mocked.

Carock wanted to yell obscenities at the guard but could hardly speak for the pain in his abdomen. He had never before experienced anything like this. It was quite unlike the pain of any digestive illnesses he has ever had. It was like— a cloud... A yellow cloud. He was not sure why he thought that but he did. It gradually became less acute as the guard sent someone to fetch a medic. Carock managed to roll over, grab his pillow, and stuff it between his gut and curled legs. _That's a little better..._ Carock sighed in relief. "I'm just gonna lay here and try not to shit myself..." he groaned.

Carock stared at the package lying near him and noticed a bit of paper sticking out. _What?_ He reached for it and peered at it.

It was a message written in atrocious, but still legible, handwriting. "Dear Carock," it began, "You must be very uncomfortable right now. Remain calm, it will pass. Inmy gift is no poison. Heart stopping, vein bursting, and other such nonsense is not a part of this spell nor any which muddle its signature. Remember? Imust have told you once that I like to obscure enchantments with several useless spells." Carock quietly groaned at this revelation. If this letter's author was whom he thought then it would be impossible to determine what type of spell this is. "Keepup your wit, you are going to need it. Appearances can be deceiving." Carock furrowed his brow quizzically, "I know you are well aware of this but it is worth the ink to remind you. Cherish your life. You might lose it if you're not careful."

"_Abirad...!_" Carock growled. The letter was unsigned, but Carock knew this sloppy handwriting better than his own. _For fuck's sake, like I need more goatshit to deal with!_ He stared at the letter, wondering why a certain few pairs of words were written so closely together that they may as well have each been one... However, he heard the voice of one of the medics before he could examine the letter more closely and had to stash it in his pillow.

After checking him over, the medic assumed his pain was from indigestion and declared that they should, "stop feeding him shit and give him some real food!" So at least _something_ good came out of this; also, as written, Carock's physical discomfort did eventually pass in a few hours. He still, however, felt _something_ down in his gut for the next several days. He had not gotten the chance to look at the letter again since that day due to it never feeling like it was safe to do so.

In the present, Carock chuffed as he peered down at his abdomen, which now felt entirely normal. A million thoughts crowded about in Carock's mind, some telling him it was nothing permanent and Abirad is just trying to freak him out... While others claimed it was still there and going to bite him in the ass later. Carock rested his head in his hands began rubbing his temples, and groaned in frustration.

And then another thought crossed Carock's mind...

For as long as he had been dodging Tözlams, they had been very _forward_. Their strategies had been simple and barbaric, being nothing but witless ambushes and reckless charging... Both while yelling the old battle cry from which their _common_ name is derived... But the Tözlams he had dealt with most recently have been behaving like— well... Like proper Tözlams.

The ancient Doldaran sect dwells in darkness, where its native followers are most comfortable... Where they developed their magic, their diet, their apparel, their _entire_ culture. Their lairs, even their foreign ones, are hidden deep in the dank earth where no celestial light can reach. Tözlams, they scheme, they scare, they skulk. They do not burst out in the blinding, burning rays of the sun to attack, they strike from the shadows.

But that simply had not been the current Regent's style. Carock was not sure _who_ exactly she was... He had only caught glimpes of her in his early childhood and knew little about her except that she was foreign with a weird name he could not quite remember and most certainly _not_ the ruler of Doldara, whom is usually the one who takes on the role of The Regent. It is otherwise commonly the ruler's consort, which she certainly was not, or some other person the ruler trusts implicitly, which she also was not.

Regardless of the Regent's exact identity, this recent encounter was _completely_ contrary to her style to the point that Carock doubted she was involved in this plot at all... And Abirad Sargsyan's _personal_ involvement reinforced his assumption. The Regent never uses _him_ in her attempts to destroy Carock.

Also, what he had experienced was devious and wily. They exploited his weak points, led him right into a trap— one of _many_, probably, and would likely have gotten him killed if it were not for Tarock and Shadrock. _I'm no Zamruht—_ Carock mused, _and magic suppressors can handle much more now than they could then..._ The architect of this plan had to be someone who had the means to learn about him and command Tözlams... Someone who has exemplary scrying skills... Someone whom the Tözlams have the upmost respect for... Someone who has Abirad under his thumb...

Someone who _should_ have been The Regent.

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Shadrock hovered across the veld faster and longer than any man could dash. The moon, although at least a week from being full, provided sufficient light for him to find his way. He quickly reached Licks Barrens, a big briny basin of sand in the middle of nowhere. The copious amounts of salt mixed in with the sand was a result of ancient days gone by when Barida Bay was actually a bay. The sea water that was once trapped in the basin had no way to leave except through evaporation, which it eventually did, leaving its salt behind. Over the centuries, more and more salt and minerals are washed in during the rainy seasons.

Shadrock checked his bearings, his destination was near the south border of the barrens. He was at the east border and looked south-west. _Would it be faster to follow the edge,_ he pondered, _or to go as the guay flies...?_ He peered into the barrens and saw many large rocks sticking out from sand. Most were large, rounded mesas, each holding the entrace to long abandoned homes, but there were also many thinner, taller, and tightly packed rocks that turned the route into a veritable obstacle course... And at the edge he had to worry only about a bit of nocturnal fauna here and there coming over for a midnight lick— and they were either too skittish to be a threat or were nothing he could not handle. _The edge it is then._

He soon reached his destination: an old, rundown Veldtzuna residence by a well and the long decayed remnants of a poor, abandoned avocado tree. The home's broken, splintery door lied off to the side, over half of its shutters were missing, the scant remnants of its doorway curtain was in tatters, and part of its ceiling had caved in. Shadrock entered cautiously, pausing when the ancient acacia cracked under his feet, not falling only because here it was merely a decorative layer. He beheld the spot at which the true floor ended, where the acacia had fallen in, and lightly strode toward it to descend the still remaining stone steps.

He glanced about the underground room, seeing no one, and then up at the doorways to the north. Both were of difficult access due to the floor having rotted away, but not impossible. He hovered up to them and tried the one on the left first. The door came off and he let it fall. It landed with a clatter. There was no one inside and it stunk of decayed wool and linen with a hint of animal skins. The bedroom had been decorated by someone with a clear love for black, bats, and spiders. A neatly made bed large enough for two adults sat against the center of the northern wall. There were two chests, both empty, and a nightstand were the animal skin odor was strongest. What remained of the skins lied shriveled and useless, having long lost their stretch, in the top drawer.

The other room did not even have a door anymore. It was comparatively colorful and a total mess. Pieces of two small, broken beds were scattered about as were some broken toys, destroyed chests, and tattered clothing. There was no blood in the room, all of the bloodshed had been on the eastern wall and the long gone wooden floor outside of it. The assailants who came here wanted one of the residents alive, one that would not be taken without a fight.

Shadrock wrapped his arms around himself as he surveyed the room. He remembered the joy and love that once filled this house. He tensed, sighed, and left the room, jumping back down to the basement.

"Oh, so you _have_ arrived..."

The sudden, rumbling voice made Shadrock flinch. He peered into the dark corner where he once saw a small pair of frightened, tear-streaked faces and saw an old Veldtzuna's face in their place. "How long have you been here?"

"I had just arrived and decided to wait down here."

"Why _here?_"

"Well it has a nice stone chair and—"

"No, I mean why _this_ place?" Shadrock angrily gestured upward toward the remaining ceiling, "When I read your message, I—"

"Because I knew you would know _exactly_ where it is. I had neither the time nor the room to give coded directions... And this meeting is too sensitive for maps."

Shadrock released a breathy, throaty groan. "_Fine._ Fair enough." Shadrock crossed his arms and stared the man down. "When you two cross paths, you're gonna have a _lot_ of explaining to do."

"I know," he sighed, "but I had to do it. It was the best way to get what needed to be done, _done_... And I could not trust _any_one else to do it."

Shadrock sighed and nodded. "Any news on The Goatling?"

"Yes, they have taken him to the dungeon in the swamp."

"_There?_" Shadrock put one hand on his hip and rubbed his chin with the other. "Risky move..."

"Yes, I believe they are trying to make it look like they don't _want_ him to come."

"What of The Lion?"

"It went perfectly. He will be in The Den at the appointed time."

"Good."

"Any news on Her Third?"

Shadrock frowned and stretched his mouth into an irrated grimace as he crossed his arms again, snorted, and glared off to the side, "His father is stubborn," he turned his gaze back toward the man in the shadows, "no matter what, he refuses to take his family somewhere safer for them. He doesn't believe me when I tell him that they can see Veriza in his son a mile away, stripes or no stripes." He leaned toward the man and added quietly, "_Veldtzuna just __**don't**__ have hair like that_."

"Heh, children... Some never grow out of thinking they always know better than you."

"He won't listen even though they're homing in on them as we speak. They're in the towns surrounding his home!" The man's eyes widened and his brows shot up. Shadrock cast his gaze about the ruined home and his grimace faded into a droopy frown. "I think he blames me for what happened..."

"So, what, he's putting his wife and children in danger just to spite you now? _Feh!_" he shook his head in disapproval and said, "I will send some of The Reborn to patrol the area... Undercover of course."

"Perhaps you could have _one_ come in uniform and have them cross paths?"

The man stared at Shadrock for a moment and then laughed, "_Hah!_ You want to scare some sense into him, eh?" he crossed his arms and leaned forward with a grin. "Think it would actually work?"

"Doubtful, to be perfectly honest..." Shadrock groaned, "if the Spooks skulking around the nearby towns aren't enough, I doubt a single Shade showing up right on his doorstep would, even one who _wasn't_ Reborn and _attacked_..." he untangled his arms, stood akimbo, and slowly shook his head, "Just wishful thinking of mine, I suppose."

"How in Barida Bay did you manage to produce someone more obstinate than Her Fourth? If he was smart, he—"

"'Obstinate' doesn't even _begin_ to describe him!" Shadrock snapped, crossing his arms again. "_Insane_ is more like it! He's _letting_ danger get the drop on him. He's putting his family in _mortal danger_ just because he's mad at me or for Akə knows _what_ reason." Shadrock untucked his right hand from his elbow, made a short chop through the air with it, "And _smart? _If only!" he scoffed, "I mean, don't get me wrong," and then tucked his hand back in as he spoke, "I love the boy but he is _not_ the sharpest—"

"Whoa! Whoa! _Whoa_ there!" the man held up his hand, "Calm yourself!"

Shadrock released a long breathy groan. "Well," he shrugged, "at least his— Her Fourth still listens to reason."

"Is _he_ mad at you too?"

"I don't know... Probably not anymore but..." Shadrock paused for a moment, sighed, and said, "He wasn't exactly happy when I left him with his foster family..."

"He knows he was safest with _them_ right?"

"Yes, I had told him that they knew it was I who rescued him and the others... I had told him he wasn't safe with me because of that... That they'd try to find him through me..." Shadrock leaned against the old pillar. "He was a child who had just been betrayed by his father, betrayed by his mother who 'saved' him, abandoned by _you_ as far as he knew, left alone in a room for _days_ to spiritually and emotionally fester..." Shadrock's gaze wandered toward the floor again. "It's no wonder that no amount of reason could ease the pain of being left to a bunch of strangers— of being abandoned by his own brother."

"Stuck between the Harbinger's and the Great Morgorga's wrath..."

"Yeah..." he sighed. All that could be heard for several moments after was the westerly evening gale and the occasional cries of nocturnal fauna. Shadrock finally spoke again, "Sometimes I feel like I'm picking up an angry vibe from him... But I don't know if it's real or if my _own_ feelings of guilt are causing me to imagine it..." Shadrock sighed again, "or if it _is_ real but about something or someone _else_ entirely."

"I was furious when I found out what had happened to him... What his father and mother did... But it was for the best," Shadrock looked at the man quizzically, "this plan might not have been conceived if it were not for those events and if they were not set in motion the way they were."

"I see..."

"Let us just hope The Lion is who we _think_ he is."

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A/N: Keeser and Acher (from Keese and Ache, of course) are terms for fans of Batzemer (initially dubbed Bat-Cave Zemer or Battesque Zemer), which is a genre of music that debuted in Doldara during Shadrock's mid-teens.

A Keeser is a fan that follows the associated fashions most of the time (due to copious amounts black being involved and Keese always being black or an off-black brown) and an Acher is a fan that usually doesn't (due to Aches coming in a variety of colors), though sometimes showing little hints of it.

The copious amounts of black didn't bother most other Doldarans, due to their traditional clothing being woven from their own dang hair (the vast majority of them are black haired) and crafted from keese pelts, but their odd hairstyles, use of strangely patterned cloth, oddly colored lipsticks, macabre accessories, and habit of wearing fishnet as clothing often did. Regardless, Keesers received little guff in Doldara and were mostly just seen as silly kids at worst; however, other countries were a bit freaked out by them and often blamed Keesers whenever something bad happened.

The music itself is always performed in a cavern, due to the resulting reverb being a crucial part of the overall sound, and was named both after this fact and after the concerts and music having themes associated with a genre of literature named after a style of architecture that was once derisively and now matter-of-factly called "Battesque" due to it being carved to look as much like a natural cave as possible.

... And if this sounds suspiciously similar to Goth Rock and _its_ history then well...

That's because it is. lol (The biggest difference being how _goths_ are treated in _their_ genre's country of origin.)

Edited on Dec. 18th, 2014: I had to fix a _huge_ mistake that's been nagging at me. It concerned the part right after Carock's flashback and before the part that showed what Shadrock's doing. Sorry about that.

Edited on Feb. 5th, 2015: I had to change the message Abirad had put in the package. It had become _extremely_ out of character and it sucked anyway. I also added a needed detail in the first chapter. I also messed with the conversation between Shadrock and MYSTERY MAN a bit... Mostly MYSTERY MAN'S way of speaking.


End file.
